Poison and Wine
by CallHerVictor
Summary: Chakotay's reflections on the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn, and the chances we miss. (Oh, the angst)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This one has been gnawing at my brain for weeks. I dedicate it to my dear quantumsilver, who is not toast and cannot be buttered, but I have no doubt understands all that I have tried to accomplish here.**

* * *

**Part One is set during and after "The Haunting of Deck Twelve"**

* * *

"That's everyone except the Captain and First Officer."

"After you."

She hesitates. In the time it takes me to clear the airlock, I feel the warm, familiar, weight of her presence vanish. One minute she's there, and the next there's a definite distance, a gap I can feel as viscerally as the goose bumps that shudder across my skin.

I turn to find her in the doorway lit by the oscillating flare of silent red, alarms. She's more than an arms length away but I can practically hear her thoughts, _feel_ the tension in her gut. She's considering staying with this creature, but more over, _with her ship_. Part of me understands its more sentiment than logic. It pains her to leave _Voyager_ behind as sure as it would any member of the crew. The only difference is, while part of her may want to fulfill the adage and go down with her ship, she possesses an awareness equal if not greater than my own. Whether she openly acknowledges it or not, there is never any doubt in my mind Kathryn Janeway knows _exactly_ where I stand.

My internal chromometer snaps off. We've got about three minutes to get in the last escape pod and put enough distance between us and this ship before the core breeches. What we don't have time for is debate. When I start for her again, my expression bears the same unspoken resolve: _come with me or we die here together_.

In a few slow seconds, Kathryn turns. Her eyes lock with mine, frustrated tears in the bottoms of her eyes, fury in the cant of her chin, but, thank god, she's coming on her own. The wave of relief washes over me, but my hand doesn't stop its reach for hers. She's mere inches from my grasp when the doors slam shut.

I come up short. The cool rush of retreating air echoes in my empty palm, a clean, gray wall where Kathryn had been milliseconds before. Instinctively, I hit the control panel, but the computer responds with silence.

From the other side of the door, I hear her rage, voice broken at the end of a sentence, screaming where she really only needs to whisper.

"_I did what you asked! We're abandoning ship!_"

Her fury prickles the hair at the back of my neck. Mine flushes fresh heat over my face.

"Chakotay!"

It's B'Elanna. She's one foot out of the escape pod, hand hitched around the open door. Her face is contorted by the rise and fall of the lights, but I can tell she is trying to assess the situation, decide if she should stay or leave.

I don't know the answer. Not now. Not with a metric ton of metal between me and –

"The Captain!" I yell.

B'Elanna's up and out of the life pod, jogging the short distance across the bay. She doesn't even try the basic override sequence and tears the panel off the wall to expose the internal components. For want of something to do, my fingers run the length of the wall. I try to find purchase in the seal with no success. My fist meet the doors in frustration. A fresh line of blood forms along my knuckles.

We have two minutes, maybe a little less. I slam my fists into the door again but the damned thing won't move, doesn't even budge. Having given up on a technical solution, B'Elanna joins me. Together, we brace our bodies against the threshold and work our fingertips the theashold. I can barely hear Kathryn's voice over the steady _whur-whur-whur_ of the blood thundering through my head.

"_Give…me back… control… of my…ship!_"

It's a broken but valiant plea, one she's using her last breath to say. She's less than a meter away and I can't get to her! That knowledge wrenches every muscle in my body and I respond in kind, roaring with raw desperation what echoes up and back in my own ears. It doesn't surprise me the sound comes out as _her_ name.

I'm vaguely aware that B'Elanna has staggered away altogether, reached for me, settled a hand in the aching center of my back. She says something. I can't hear her. She tries again and I realize, it's my name.

My breath erupts in wet and desperate gasps. B'Elanna searches my face for recognition, and I realize I can see her clearly. The pure, white glow of the overheads has been restored. She tries again. "I said, I think it's over."

The silent self destruct alarm has been terminated, the hum of the air reconditioning system kick on and I feel the first waft of cool, fresh air. The console is still dangling from the wall, but B'Elanna reaches in a throws the manual override. The airlock doors wheel open.

I hear Kathryn before I see her, coughing and sputtering for air. She's struggling to stand, to breathe. I rush to her, kneel, and pull the majority of her body weight against mine.

"Easy," I warn.

Kathryn shakes her head dully. "I'm…all right."

No, what she is stubborn and bullheaded and tries to rise too quickly. Just as she does, her eyes lose focus and I watch her head slump forward and back like she's lost all her bones. Her knees give out but both B'Elanna and I are already there, easing her back against the bulkhead. Kathryn wets her lips and holds her eyes closed for a long minute while her breathing normalizes.

I check her pulse, find it fast but steady. The loose end of the oxygen pack is around her neck and it occurs to me she never used it. The thought infuriates me, but not enough to mention it, at least not in present company

When she looks at me again, her face is full of familiar warmth. "I thought…you left."

I push the hair back from her face. "Never without you."

Her smile is faint and undirected, but it's there.

For her part, B'Elanna is silent, watching our brief exchange with no small amount of curiosity in her eyes. I know her well enough to know it will go unmentioned for a while. But only a little while.

Together, we work Kathryn back up to standing, and eventually B'Elanna lets go. I do not. All the way back to the bridge, I keep a firm hand against Kathryn's back, guiding her as much as assuring her of exactly where I still stand.

* * *

The week that follows is a blur of activity. Reclaiming the crew, restocking the escape pods, repairs. Creating a temporary environment for the lifeform Seven classifies as Species 9148. Deck twelve took the least damage and is the most logical place to house our 'guest' as it requires the fewest interruptions in ship's functions and crew quarters.

Seven days later, we are running at peak efficiency though the Captain has been spending a considerable amount of time with her hands buried in ships systems, and when she not doing that, on deck twelve. Whether or not she's enjoying her dialogue with the creature that tried to kill her a week ago, she never mentions. My guess is that she does. She's a scientist first and a Starfleet diplomat behind that. Where the two lines cross, Kathryn always finds the greatest rewards.

My intention is to file my report with as little fanfare as I can manage, mostly because I know Kathryn will skim it unless she thinks there is something she needs to address. And if I didn't want to have that debate a week ago, I sure as hell don't want to have it now. I endangered everyone by going back for he, compounded that fact by bringing B'Elanna along for the ride.

So, I write my report and rehearse my speech, just in case Kathryn decides to lecture me on the "what ifs." What if _Voyager_ had been destroyed? What if she had perished along with it? She needed to be able to rely on me to take up command. To lead our crew home, wherever that may be. She needed to be able to trust me.

While I'm having no problem making her argument for her, my side is more than a little lacking. The truth is I hadn't thought about it at the time. Going after her, protecting her, comes as easily to me as blinking or breathing. I hadn't taken into consideration what would happen to everyone if Kathryn and I died.

And that is the most terrifying part of it all.

Neelix organizes an impromptu gathering in the mess hall, but it's really just a dressed up dinner and a reason to serve his "Nebula Soup" for a third night in a row. I choke down a bowl then settle in the corner of the room with my tea. B'Elanna works her way over to me eventually when she thinks I'm not looking.

She watches me from the corner of her eye, sips her drink and chuckles.

"What?" I ask.

"You remember Yura Nine? Fifteen Cardassians and not a working phaser between us." She shakes her head again and looks at me. "You know, I thought you were completely out of your mind, right?"

I shrug and grant her a half smile. "Well, it didn't exactly go like I'd planned."

"And we spent the night jumping steam geysers on the salt plains just to avoid the patrols."

I screw up my face. Where the hell is she going with this? "You have a point to make or are you just feeling nostalgic?"

She holds my eyes while she sips her punch again. "Can't help thinking about what you said to me that night. About the monkey who misses the branch."

_Ah_. There it is. My own parable tossed back in my face. She continues: "We've been in some pretty tight spots, you and me. I like to think I've seen you at your best and your worst, but what I've never seen is what I saw a week ago."

Though my heart is slamming inside my chest, I keep my breathing rhythmic and even. Still, I have to look away and find a still spot inside the bottom of my glass.

"Chakotay," she says softly. "I'm not really an expert of relationships, but I know anguish when I see it."

"It was a stressful situation."

"You've been in stressful situations before." Her voice falls to a near whisper. "Are you in love with her?"

My only chance now is to bluff it out, but I have no hope of holding a straight face. I'm a bad liar and we both know it. Instead, I muster my own chuckle. "Trying to win Tom's betting pool?"

I'm met with a withering glare. "That was one time, and might I remind you, you two had just come back from eighty-nine days alone of a paradise planet." She makes a good point. The anger fades from her voice again. "Does she know?"

And that is what Tom would call the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Does she? She'd have to be an idiot not to, but then again, we're close. The closest we can be here, in the Delta Quadrant. Clear depth but with clear boundaries, save a few brushes of real intimacy we have shared. So, should she know? Probably. Does she?

I don't tell B'Elanna I have held her, seen her cry. I've even kissed her, once, after a series of misunderstandings led us to an awkward moment. But then again, I don't really have to. Not for this conversation to be real and moving dangerously close to the things I haven't even spoken to my spirit guide.

"I'm not…" I hesitate. B'Elanna glares at me. "…sure."

I swallow the last of my glass and set it aside before standing. B'Elanna watches me all the way to my feet, and frowns when I say, "I'm going to bed."

She snags my hand, more so my wrist, and presses down with just enough strength to hold me in place. "The man who misses his chance and the monkey who misses his branch." She releases me. "Just… think about it."

* * *

It's late. The corridors are dimmer at night, filling the hallway outside Kathryn's quarters with a dusky, blue glow. I hesitate passing her door, catch the dampened melody of a symphony. I run my fingers against the cool metal beneath her nameplate. So much of what I know about her is gleaned through moments like this, only a few meters between us, but also some cold, hard barrier that I cannot breech.

My hand falls back at my side while I consider ringing her chime, knowing even that is a selfish desire. I never _don't_ want to see her, to talk to her, and it's not a far leap from there to consider what a life would look like where I would never have to find a reason for any of it. A life where I could move freely through her space, observe the intricacies of her behavior and mercurial nature. She brought an extensive collection of objects with her from Earth, squirreled several more along our journey. It's how she interacts with these things that tickle my curiosity. In the privacy of her own world, did she touch them, hold them? If so, which are her favorites? And which hold the memories she considers the fondest?

In the short span of time we lived together, I know she's particularly attached to the silver rapier. On New Earth, she would run her finger across the blade. I regret now I never asked what it represented or where she had acquired it. I know it sits close to her bed now, but what else that means, I can only guess.

I shake my head hard and wiped a clean hand across my mouth. Damn, B'Elanna. Damn myself. Why had I stayed? Why can't I just walk away from this damned door?

"Chakotay?"

I lift my eyes from the floor, caught, but recovery is easy. To her, it probably seems like I am just arriving.

"I was just coming to find you," she says and motions me forward. "Come in."

"Why didn't you use the comm?" I ask as I slip by her.

The doors hiss closed and she moves around her desk to retrieve a PADD. "Actually, I was headed to the messhall. I assumed you'd be at the party."

"I was. I just left."

Kathryn nods and glances at the PADD in her hand. I try to catch the text but the candlelight washes out any single word. I can only assume it's my report. Still, she's not really dressed for business. Her uniform is still in the room, tossed over a chair, all four pips still stuck to the collar. However, she's chosen a pale cream dress that manages to be modest and flattering at the same time. The skirt holds the shape of her body but flares out around her legs, and when she sits on the couch, she curls it around her feet.

"I just finished your report," she says. "Several of them, in fact. I'm a little behind."

"Learn anything else from our newest passenger?"

That earns me a frown. "Given our limited communications, only that he –"

"_He_?"

"Well…" She bites her bottom lips. "He seems like a _he_, but from what I've gathered their race has no gender."

I'm tired but it ticks the archeologist in me and moves her safely off the topic of my report. "Then how do they procreate?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." She drops the PADD in her lap and releases a long sigh. "Dinner any good?"

"If you like nebula soup."

She winces and sighs again. "I'll just wait for breakfast."

"You could replicate something." Which she doesn't need me to tell her, but saying it allows the real reason she was looking for me fall into place. "You're out of rations."

"It's been a rough week."

"For which coffee is the only balm." I rise and move to her replicator then key my code. "Bowl of vegetable soup. Neelix six-five-one."

The replicator hums for a moment before I return to her with the soup.

She frowns. "I thought I was getting coffee."

"If you're using my rations you'll eat real food first."

She acquiesces without further words and lifts the warm bowl to her lips. "What did you need?"

"Me? Nothing."

She smirks. "You were standing in the corridor outside my quarters a full two minutes before I opened the door."

At the surprise my face must show, she tosses a thumb toward the doors. "Proximity alarm. After the Doctor popped in on me a few times last week, I figured I better have a way to defend against him."

I can't keep the exasperation out of my voice. "Spirits forbid you take a break after you nearly asphyxiate on nebular gas, Kathryn."

She sips from the top of the bowl. "Even so, I'd be happy with a Doctor who wasn't so prone to making house calls."

I shrug and let my eyes wander around the room, from the grandfather clock to the antique Victrola beside the couch. A thin line of light spills from the unseen corner of her bedroom and the rapier sits, gleaming, in a band of starlight. I can't help but think of what B'Elanna said earlier and I motion toward the sword.

"Where did you get that?" I ask.

She follows my finger to the narrow table just inside the door. "It's a reproduction of the swords carried by Spanish naval captains in the late 16th century. Owen Paris gave it to me when I got my captaincy."

"Tom's father?"

She nods. "You know I was his science officer on the _Al Batani_, but he was also my greatest support when I switch to command school." She takes another sip of the her soup before asking, "Why do you ask?"

I shake my head. "No reason."

"So, you came to my door at half past eleven to ask me about my sword?"

I rub my face again. "Actually, Kathryn, I was just on my way back from the messhall and wanted to see how you were feeling, but I couldn't decide if my concern was warranted or would even be appreciated." I stand, feel her eyes on me all the way to the door. "Since you set a proximity alarm, I'm sure now that it isn't."

"Chakotay?" Her voice is pleading, hurt even, but mostly confused.

I pause just long enough to say: "My code's still in the replicator. Help yourself."

I can't – _I won't_. Not now. Not after so many years of successfully maintaining our mutual friendship as well as our working relationship. Whatever B'Elanna saw, _whatever she thought she saw_, was a momentary lapse brought on by the heat of the failing warp core and the chaos of the moment. She is my friend, my captain – losing her in any capacity is a horrible thought. All I can do now is live with the knowledge that when it comes to that, I might not make the best choices.

Once safely inside my quarters, I storm around for a minute. My eyes settle on my medicine bundle and I toss it across the coffee table. But before I can sit, the doors swoosh open. Kathryn's entry is brisk, decided, and without preamble.

"What the hell is going on?" she demands.

Yeah. It was pretty stupid to believe that I was getting away that easily. There are very few places to hide on a ship this small and, at the end of the day, it's still _her_ ship. She has the steel of captaincy in her eyes, but the stance of a woman in search of certain answers. I can't help but feel a little bad for her, but mostly for myself.

I stalk off the distance between the far wall and the center of the room where she stands, shaking my head back and forth, running my hands through the top of my hair. "I'm sorry," I begin. "I'm tired. Ill at ease. This last week has been –"

"Eye opening?"

That pulls me back around to face her not sure I've heard her correctly or even understand if I did. "I'm sorry?"

"This last week. Eye opening, wasn't it?" She crosses her arms and moves in a few steps closer. "How truly vulnerable we are out here. How quickly we can lose control of everything and everyone. Don't think I didn't read your report, Chakotay. I know what you did, what you were willing to do for me. I can't honestly say that, were our positions reversed, what I would have done."

Yes. Exactly that, though I'm still not sure if she gets it. If she even remotely understands that the minute that air lock door slammed shut between us, I stopped thinking. Stopped feeling. I locked on to the task of bringing down those doors and finding her and nothing else ever crossed my mind. And the only reason for any of it was because I am in love with her, and the prospect of living in a world she was no longer part of is truly unbearable.

It's not the lecture I was expecting, but I make my argument all the same. "You can't jeopardize your safety for mine."

"Any more than you can jeopardize yours for mine? I agree, but we do, over and over again. Because both of us believe with at least one of us, they'll make it home, but neither of us think we matter quite as much as the other." She sniffs a laugh. "And we tried to send them on without us once before, remember? They mutinied."

Though casual and meant mostly to lighten the mood, I don't miss the reference. Certainly don't miss the fact that it has been almost four years since she has mentioned New Earth. It stills me for a full measures rest, but it also gives me time to find my footing again.

"It scared me," I say plainly.

"Me, too," she admits.

I bow my head. "A man and a monkey were in a forest while a panther circled the bottom of the tree. The man said to the monkey, 'You go north and I will go south. The panther cannot chase us both.' They agreed and the monkey headed toward the north. But when he jumped, he was so frightened, he missed his branch and fell down to the panther. So upset that his friend had perished, the man did not run toward the south, but stood in horror. And when the panther had eaten the monkey, he turned his attention to the man."

Kathryn's shoulders sink in a bit. "I don't think I see your point."

"The man who misses his chance and the monkey who misses the branch cannot be helped."

More than a year ago we decided what might happen between us couldn't happen here. Love and loss has forged a hard barrier within her, one she wasn't willing to look past just for a soft place to lay her head at night. I'm sure, in her mind, it makes the kind of logical sense she's accustomed to. In the event of my death she believes she can continue, even though in the event of hers, she knows I can't.

I close the distance between us and brush the loose hair back from her face. "It's… difficult to know the impulses I should indulge and those I should stay."

Here I certainly expect a debate. Expect the openness with which she speaks to crumple under several tons of her sense of duty. Instead, she blows out a long, shaky breath and nods. "Yes, it is."

The unspoken truth of those words rolls out and around the nearly empty corner of my quarters. Where she has spent years carefully selecting and displaying the items she associates with herself, I have made a habit of keeping only the essentials I need to survive. From the outside, we look like perfectly opposite sides of a coin. Science and faith. Material and spiritual. But from the inside-out, we are holding a raw truth that binds us unlike any other.

My fingers settle against the bottom of her chin. Her eyes come up automatically, fear swirling to the surface, widening them a bit, forcing stillness over the sharper, more expressive lines of her face.

The feeling is intense. Mingled with anticipation, it is nearly overwhelming. I want to ask if she feels it the way I do, but cannot bring myself to break the silence that sets her eyes on a fluttering, if not frantic, journey between my eyes and mouth.

I move. She's quicker. She reaches up to still my hand before it brushes her cheek. "_Don't_..."

It's more of a plea than a warning, soft but desperate. She clears the break from her voice and says it again.

"Don't."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: Set after Workforce**

* * *

Quarra.

It doesn't sound vicious. Doesn't look it, from space. And maybe there was a time it was a good place to live. But in the last four days, I've come to associate its name with words like brutal, cruel, and selfish. While their government assures me that the enslaved workforce was a product of only a few bad men, I can't help but wonder who else knew. As it turns out, _Voyager_ is not the only ship to lose their entire crew to criminal mind-altering and memory extraction. I spend two full days negotiating for at least three different races trying to sort out their own mysteries. Some I can help. Others are further away from home than we are.

The ship hums with uneasiness. Over a hundred people, my crew, still missing pieces of themselves. Kathryn among them. I scan the latest manifest. The Doctor has only returned nine people back to duty. Harry, B'Elanna, and I can't run this ship alone for much longer. I push myself up from behind the ready room desk and head for sickbay.

As the turbolift drops between decks, I try to keep my mind on ships business and away from anything else, but the tension is palpable, and those of them who have recovered their memories are looking to me for certainty. I wish I had some to give them. No, I wish Kathryn did.

My instinct is of course to spend every waking moment at her side, coaching her through the last six years, and beyond that what little of her history I know. If Tuvok were in any better condition I might even set him to the task, but he's worse than most and the Doctor has elected to keep him in a coma a few more days until he can turn his full attention to the complex organ that is the Vulcan brain.

So, it will have to be me. I just don't know what, or who, she will be in the interim. I'd be lying if I said some part of me didn't feel disheartened that she hadn't known me, at least viscerally. I want to believe she did, but know the real reason she helped me was because that drive to explore and willful compassion is as hardwired into her personality as anything else.

"Doctor, report," I say as I breeze into sickbay.

I make a quick scan of the room. Faces look back with a careful mixture of fear and confusion. Men and woman I have known for a decade offer me cautious nods, unsure if they are meant to do more. The Doctor finishes something with Lieutenant Andrews then turns to me. He's still in his command uniform, straddling duties as the ECH and the EMH effortlessly. I'll make it a point to switch him solely to medical duties when Kathryn is back, but right now, I need him.

"I've released sixty-three crew members back to their quarters," he says. "The rest will need to spend a little more time in the cargo bays."

"How long?"

"For those I've released, they should be back to normal in about fifteen hours. Most of them were beginning to remember their real lives."

He motions for me to follow him into the office. He passes me a neural scan and I read the patient name at the top. Janeway. "I regret to inform you however, the Captain's memory engrams have been significantly altered," he says.

"Her entire life has been Starfleet. I imagine that was a complex reality to wipe."

"Her scans show nearly seventy percent of her memory was completely erased. While I had no trouble restoring them fully, the false identity might take more time to fade." He hands me a second scan. "At her request, I scanned her… friend, Mr. Jaffen."

"And?"

"His brain shows no sign of tampering. I released him back to Quarra."

"Where is she?"

"I had Neelix return her to her quarters for the time being."

"Do you anticipate any lasting effects?" It hurts to ask but I have to.

The Doctor makes an equally pained face. "It's probably violating doctor-patient confidentially, but I can say this. For members of the crew who have had a more… difficult history it may come as somewhat of a shock to remember it all at once. The Kathryn Janeway we know would want her privacy, I'm sure, but you are closer to her than anyone. Maybe if you…"

I wave off his need to finish the sentence. "Harry has the bridge until morning. I'll go see her now. Thank you, Doctor."

* * *

The lights are low outside her quarters, but there is no music inside. I ring the chime twice before losing patience then key the override but stop at the open doors.

"Cap – Kathryn?"

No answer.

I move deeper into her cabin. Most of the room looks untouched, a book left open, a bookmark spilling out across the pages. I venture toward the bedroom and find her seated on the corner of the bed. A fresh uniform lay spread out across her lap, her hands twisting the collar. I also notice she's changed into the cream dress, but not before sorting through her entire closet. A few of the outfits are laid out across the pillows. Some I've seen, some I haven't. One, in black, I'd like to.

"Kathryn?"

"This is all real, isn't it?" she asks, her voice a bare whisper over the hum of the engines. Her face is immutably sad as she stares at the four brass pips on the collar. "What I remember about my life, my family, it's all a lie." She lets out an uneasy breath. "My father isn't on Earth, is he? He's dead. He died in a shuttle crash."

"Kathryn –"

"I was there. I was in the Starfleet. I went to the academy, but not for command. I remember so much… but it's like… watching someone else."

"Maybe we should get you back to sickbay," I suggest.

"No. I don't –" She sniffs a laugh. "Actually, I don't remember why I don't want to go back there."

"All right, then." I kneel in front of her and extract the crumpled uniform from her grip. "Why don't you come on out and I'll try to fill in some of the blanks."

She nods twice and rises, letting me hold her hand the entire way to the couch. I search the room for her mug then realize it's suspiciously absent. She watches me all the way to the replicator and back.

"Coffee, black."

"Coffee?" she asks.

With my back to her, I'm free to wince. It seems like a cruel and needless thing to strip her of.

I pass the mug into her waiting hands. "Trust me."

She sniffs it then takes a swig. "It's hot." Recognition flashed across her face. "A first for that replicator. _How do I know that_?"

I chuckle. "The two of you have a complicated relationship. Is there anything else I can get you? Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm okay, I think. This is all a little… strange." She sets the cup on the low table. "Commander, I'm sorry I alerted the authorities –"

I wave off any further apology and settle beside her. "I'm kind of glad you did anyway. It gave me a chance to speak with the detective, which ultimately led to our uncovering this illegal workforce. And it's Chakotay, by the way."

"Right." She chews her bottom lip, glancing around the room and settling on a nineteenth century microscope. "I seem to have a thing for antique relics, but I can't really tell you what all these do."

I smile. "Well, that one is a microscope from Earth. Your grandfather gave it to you when you were a child. And that, over there…" My finger guides her eyes to the rapier on the bedroom table. "Is Spanish. A friend of yours gave it to you when you got your first command. Do you remember his name?"

Kathryn closes her eyes, searches her memory for a second then says, "Owen Paris." But I can tell by her face the pieces don't fit together as seamlessly as they ought to. "The…bartender's father?"

"Actually, Tom is our helmsman."

"And the pregnant woman is his wife. B'Elanna. She's an engineer?"

"Our Chief engineer."

"There's that word again."

_Our_.

"It will come back, I promise."

She nods again but her hands are fretting in her lap. I resist the urge as long as I can then finally reach out to take one. Our fingers slip together easily but Kathryn fixes her eyes on our conjoined hands.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She swallows audibly. "That feels… familiar." There's curiosity but also suspicion in her eyes when she looks at me again. "In fact, you feel _very_ familiar."

"I told you, we're friends," I assure her.

"But we didn't start that way. We used to be… enemies. I was sent to arrest you." She searches my face. "What did you do?"

"I was part of an organization called the Maquis. We were at war with the Cardassians."

She sucks in a sharp breath. "Cardassians," she repeats. "I-I… don't know why but I feel…"

"Fear?"

She nods.

"That's a pretty common reaction to their species."

"But then why was I after you? Why wasn't Starfleet more interested in – " She stops and shakes her head. "Never mind, I remember now."

It's strange but impossible not to marvel at. As her memories come back, I see the certainty returning to her face, her self-assured nature pulling her shoulders square. The more she understands, the calmer she becomes. In an hour we move through a brief history of the Federation as well as the first years of our journey. For the most part, she tells me things I already know, but hearing them from her perspective is enlightening on many levels.

In the early days, I hadn't given much thought to her mind set. Then again, she played a lot of things close to her chest. We both did. So, it's strange to hear her rediscover what she felt at the time, chuckle through the first taste of Leola root, or marvel at the possibly of a way home.

But I can tell she's leaving things out. In particular the thoughts that include me. The name Seska passes her lips only once but it seems to encapsulate our mutual awareness that we almost lost everything before we even began. When she begins to fade, I push her further.

"What else do you remember?"

"There was an airplane, on a planet. We found…" She gasps. "Amelia Earhart. We found Amelia Earhart?"

I nod. "It was an incredible discovery."

"We thought the crew was going to stay. We offered them the opportunity, but when we got to the cargo bay…" Tears rise to the bottom of her eyes. "None of them were there."

She brushes the wetness from her cheeks. "They actually believe I can get them home."

"We all do."

I can tell the idea still frightens her, then again, I can't really blame her. Less than forty-eight hours ago her biggest concern in life was what she was going to have for dinner.

Speaking of which... neither of us have eaten and it seems a natural moment to pause. I stand and return to the replicator, order two bowls of vegetable risotto. When I set out the table, she rises to join me. The first forkful disappears into her mouth, but she keeps her eyes on my face. And swallows.

"New Earth."

I freeze and stare blankly into my bowl. The risotto. _Dammit_.

"You made this… on New Earth."

"I did."

"I didn't remember until I tasted it, but… I do _now_." Anger. Maybe fear. I check her face. No, definitely anger. "We've had dinner before. Many times. Here, but in other places. At a café… in _Venice_."

I reach across the table and set a gentle hand against hers. "Kathryn..."

"_No_." She snaps back her fingers, holds it to her chest as though it burns. "You and I? Are we… are we involved?"

"No, we're not."

"But you want to be?"

"No. I mean, yes." I push my hand through my hair. "It's complicated."

"It doesn't feel complicated. It feels… familiar." She pushes away from the table, stalks off the length of the room. "Is that why you're here? Is that why you came after me? Because I'm your... _girlfriend_?"

It's hard not to wince at the incredulity with which she asks it, harder still not to respond in kind and remind her this was _her_ choice, _her_ rules. Her call. Not mine.

Instead, I follow her to the center of the room and set a hand on both of her shoulders to lock her in place.

"Kathryn, listen to me. I think you need to let the rest of your memories come back before we discuss –"

Her mouth smothers the rest of my sentence, locking down in the crushing kiss that whirls my mind back from the immediate situation and into a deeper, warmer place. She moves into me, lets my hands wind over her back and up her shoulders. Touch ignites her. She works her mouth against mine and my fingers find the exposed skin around her throat and collar bone.

She whimpers but I swallow the sound along with a few of my own. It's dizzying to think about what exactly is happening and why, but I do. Regardless of what she feels in this moment, in an hour, I know it will be different. I wrench her mouth away from mine.

"Kathryn, wait," I croak.

Her breath comes out in quick pants. "That was more than familiar."

It's the look on her face that startles me. Her lips swollen, cheeks flushed, but the color in her eyes is the rich, dark navy of arctic waters. Everything about her reading of willingness and want. Desires she's _never_ expressed before, never would. The reality jerks me down from the rising euphoria.

She tosses my hands off her shoulders and circles the coffee table, using the furniture to keep a stronger distance. "My god. Jaffen. What am I doing? What did I _do_?" Her fingers disappear into her hair and she tries to shake away the confusion.

"Believe me, it's not what it seems. You and I are not involved, and we never have been. What you felt, what you feel for Jaffen might be real, and you are well within your rights to explore that possibility."

The look in her eyes is excruciatingly sad. "But I already love _you_."

It knocks the wind out of me. Takes everything I have not to leap the coffee table and pull her into my arms, but I know, if she remembered fully, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. So, instead of doing what I want to do, I do what she would want me to do, and make her argument for her.

"That might be true, but you're the Captain. You can't have a relationship with a member of your crew."

She narrows her eyes. "A regulation I'm sure Starfleet would overlook given our circumstance."

I don't want to do this. Every part of me is screaming not to have to do this. But I _have_ to.

"Maybe. But _you_ can't. Believe me when I say, I know you well enough that if you and I were together, and you were forced to make a decision that cost me my life, you would never forgive yourself. The pain you would feel, the pain you have felt, was so great, it nearly destroyed you."

I can see it now. The memory of her father and her fiancé's death rising to the surface like blood bubbling up to a long-healed wound. It whirls her around and down to the couch, and when she looks at me again, her face is contorted with grief and gut-wrenching sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn. I am so, so sorry that I have to tell you this, but I only know it because you've told me."

She says nothing. Does nothing. It's frightening to say the least, to see someone who never flinches or backs down. The Borg. The entire Delta Quadrant. But here, in this room, she is frozen with the realization that everything I'm saying, she already knows.

"You're right," she whispers. "It sounds… insane, but I know you're right. I just can't help but feel…"

She hiccups a gasp and stands again. When she moves around the room, I can feel the heat rolling off her in thin waves, see the resolve in her face.

"You should probably go," she says softly. "But before you do, I'm going to tell you something I don't think I, as your captain or as your friend would ever confess. I can't stand feeling so untouchable. At times, I can't remember what it's like to be held, let alone touched by another person. But then, there you are, and the reasons that I have, melt away. I know I have never felt that, not in this life or any alien altered life. And it scares me so badly, I think I might shatter. She loves you. I love you. Even if I never say it again, I have a hard time believing I won't always."

There's nothing I can safely say to that, not that won't cross every boundary I know she has. I offer her a dull goodnight and make a beeline for my quarters.

By 0200 I still haven't slept. Haven't showered. Haven't moved. All I can hear is her voice repeating those three words over and over again.

_I love you_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three: set during ****_Endgame_**

* * *

When I was a child, my grandfather told me the legends of our tribe. Stories of our people, the ones who came before us. Of their trials. Their victories. And their losses. Being a child, I took these things as truth. But when I grew up, I saw them for what they were. Lessons. Warnings meant to keep the bold from growing prideful, the learned from becoming arrogant, and the grief stricken from becoming cold.

Cold.

That's what she is. Something hard and glassy you can knock out a tooth on and come back feeling stupid… and stupid… and stupid. Something dead, pretending to be warm. She is everything I fear she will become, would become. And she knows _I know_.

It's in the way she carries herself, the haughty glare she holds on her younger self, the viciousness that crosses her face when she thinks no one else is watching. After twenty-six years she still knows _exactly_ where I'm standing.

She just doesn't care, and wastes no time trying to hide it. Instead, she simply avoids me, a clear delineation in position, like I don't exist. Like I haven't existed to her in a long time.

So, in The Admiral's timeline, I must be dead.

Kathryn, my Kathryn, doesn't see it. And it will be the hell she pays if I fail to mention it now. I don't hesitate anymore before ringing her chime, though I have no belief the proximity alarm has persisted. Somewhere along the way, through one battle or another, I'm sure the sequence has been purged from the computer core. Still, I don't linger in her hallway. I haven't in years.

"Come in."

The light is low but still bright enough she can work. Seated at her desk, her untouched dinner beside her, she doesn't lift her head when I enter.

"Bad news," she says without looking.

I move around, front and center, but say nothing.

"I kill messengers these days, Chakotay." If it's a joke, she doesn't laugh. Doesn't even crack a smile. But she does look at me. "_What_?"

"We need to talk about this."

She frowns but it's a petulant look. "Can we talk about it in the Alpha Quadrant?"

"Maybe," I begin, letting the tension draw out the silence a little longer. "But, by then it might be too late."

The padd in her hand comes down hard against the desk. "Too late for _what_ exactly?"

I'm not sure how, but I keep my voice level and even. "To restore twenty-six years to the timeline."

She pushes herself up and out from behind the desk, keeping her back to me while she grabs a fistful of her own hair.

"We've played with time before, Kathryn. Most of the time, we've lost. Captain Braxton? I don't think we can ignore his warning. _Voyager_ shows up on their sensors far too often."

She spins. She snaps. "I don't care!"

"I think you do, and I think that's why you haven't slept since the minute she set foot on this ship."

"How do you know when I sleep?" Now her tone is downright snotty.

I take a full, measured step toward her and use my eyes to guide hers to the farthest wall, the one we share. "Because I pay attention. It's my job as your first officer as much as it is for me to tell you what you are thinking about doing might have dire consequences."

"This hub –"

"Is not the only way back to the Earth. Kathryn, listen to yourself. You're willing to throw away twenty-six years of a future you know nothing about."

"I know enough."

"You know Seven is going to die and that Tuvok is sick. But did she tell you anything else?"

"It's enough!"

"It wasn't enough seven years ago," I mumble.

"What are you talking about?"

I wave away the thought. I shouldn't even be telling her this. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"No. Tell me. You came here with something to say, say it."

Where to begin? I pull in the long breath, let out an equally long sigh. "Remember a few months ago when I ordered B'Elanna to burn out our deflector dish?"

She crosses her arms, narrows her eyes, and nods. I continue.

"What would have happened if I hadn't… _Voyager_ was fractured into twenty-six time frames. In yours, you were still in the Alpha Quadrant. I was forced to enlist your help to restore the time line."

"How?"

I give her the quickest version I can. The chronoton-based injections, the gel packs. Seska. She listens with silent fury burning the edges of her eyes.

"At the time, you wanted to restore things to your timeline, to stop _Voyager_ from ever entering the Delta Quadrant. What I told you then is exactly what I am going to tell you now. You're not getting the whole story. You're missing the people. And quite frankly, you're robbing them of their destiny."

"Your belief. Not mine."

It stings, but then again, it's meant to. "Regardless, what right do you have, do either of you have, to assume that any loss would necessitate such a radical change to the timeline?"

"_Look at her_, _Chakotay_!" she screams.

Screams. It startles me, mostly because I don't think I've ever heard her do that before. It rings out across the silence. She presses the back of her hand to her lips, bowing her head, and fighting to restore the calm to her voice. What comes out instead is raw and raspy.

"Look at her. That… woman is broken in a way I-I…" she falters, struggles, but flinches when I reach for her. "I don't want to be. So, yeah. Maybe it's selfish, at least in part. But in the last three days, I've learned that my oldest friend will lose his mind, Seven is going to die on a mission _I_ send her on, and you…"

That one never makes it out, but the implication sends a chill down to the tips of my feet and back.

"Me? She told you something about me?"

Kathryn clears her throat. "Everyone I _love_ will suffer. How can you ask me to just let it happen?"

When the chime rings our attention flies to the door. Could be Tuvok, or Tom. B'Elanna. Even Neelix. The reports are happening hourly. It could be anyone. Kathryn turns to the stars again, lifting her hands to her face to compose herself before calling for entry.

When the doors open, I frown. I should have guessed.

The Admiral's eyes are stone, locked on me and leaving no question as to who her anger rests upon.

"I should have known," she says. "But, then again, I guess I did."

"What do you want?" I ask before Kathryn can make it sound any more desired than it really is.

"Well, since you're so eager to maintain my timeline, I thought I should be here to offer myself as the devil's advocate."

Well, she got one word correct, and it confirms that the proximity alarm is a thing of the past. How long has she been standing there, waiting for the perfect moment to enter? Hard to say. But it means she knows she's losing ground with Kathryn. She knew going into this I would be her greatest adversary. It's why she's avoided me since day one.

I watch her circle the room, the careful steps she takes around the chairs and table before sitting in the exact center of the couch and spanning her arms along the back. "Well, go ahead. Make your case."

"I already have," I growl.

She feigns disinterest by picking at her nail bed. "You know, in about three years you'll tell me about your sojourn into the future. You know what I'll tell you?" She focuses in on me again. "_You should have put us back when you had the chance_."

I shrug. She's not the only one who knows how to look bored. "I believe that of you."

"Then you should believe it of her, too, because it's what she thinks. That's part of your problem. You'll drink poison because you hope that it's wine." The Admiral leans in over her knees. "Hold on to this moment, Chakotay. This is your branch. Your one chance. And if you let go, this is exactly where you will be for the next twenty-six years. Locked in this debate, growing old, and tired, and bitter, and everything either of you have felt for each other will be snuffed out under the reality that you forced her into this future. You held her feet to the fire and then you left her there to burn."

"Stop it," Kathryn whispers.

"No, you need to stop," The Admiral snarls and looks at me again. "And you. Stop and take a cold, hard look at the future you are walking into." She sits back again and tosses her chin toward Kathryn. "In six months, you'll lose her to a nasty little band of pirates called the Mhat'Ma Guard. You'll get her back with more bones broken than intact. More missing than she can hope to restore. And just when she's able to walk again, you'll lose nine in one day. After that, the Delerian Sovereignty and the Argonian Ministry. A hundred year old battlefield we'll be forced to cross."

The Admiral rises and closes the distance to deliver her final blow. Inches from my face, her breath is cold and sour. "Venice never came for us, Chakotay. Death came for us. Heartache came for us. Misery and loss and _pain_. So think long, and well, and hard before you condemn her to that, because I know you'll never forgive yourself once you do. And neither will she."

Her retreat is swift and silent. I can't imagine what its cost her to relive those things, if only briefly. But I can see what it has cost Kathryn to hear them, who is now resting silently on the couch. Her head is in her hands, held over her lap so I can no longer see her face. She rocks and when I reach to lay a hand against her back, she trembles.

"Let's go home," I whisper. Her face comes up, wet with tears, and I _know_. "Let's just go home, okay?"

She nods cautiously. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four: set Post-_Endgame_**

* * *

There's a legend among her people.

One she favors in particular.

I wonder if, when he gave it to her, Mark Johnson had any idea how symbolic it would become.

We were not unlike Virgil and Dante, her and I. Passing through a land full of varying hells, our humanity tested and bent. I'd like to believe we came through it intact; if not fundamentally the same people we were, then better for the change. But I know, in this moment, she's not sure. Even with the Admiral's death, there's a part of her that's not sure we left what _truly_ frightens her in the Delta Quadrant.

_Lo non piangea, si` dentro impetrai._

I wept not, so stone within I grew.

Today, they brought _Voyager_ into space dock. Today, she's an Admiral. Today, they took her off the bridge of her ship and unknowingly fulfilled, at least in part, the history she'd hoped to erase. Though her smile stayed on through the ceremony, it never reached her eyes. I tried to gauge her at a distance, but she wouldn't look at me. And that was probably the most damning truth about it all.

I can't help but think that stripping her of her command less than a week after our return is a cruel as the Quarren's once removing her love of coffee. Both had been sightless blunders, arresting her of the precious few things she truly enjoyed in life. Coffee and command. Stimulants and structure. Poison and wine.

Seems fitting that at least some of the _other_ Admiral's words would come back to me now, standing in the hallway of her high-rise housing, wondering like I always had if my concern is warranted, but hardly caring if it's unwelcome. I take a deep breath and press the chime.

She calls me to enter but doesn't turn around. She's standing against the long bank of smoked amber glass overlooking Starfleet, Earth. Home. My eyes scan her head to toe and back again, a hundred questions hung on the breath I can't seem to take. None as pressing as the one I already know the answer to.

Are you okay?

My lips form the syllables and she goes through all the motions. Nothing about her speaks to how _not_ okay she really is; holding up the calm exterior as effortlessly as she did the day I met her. Nothing except… she still won't look me in the eyes.

I move deeper into her apartment. Her collections have migrated to the shelves and bookcases, populated them with the staples that I have come to associate with her. I wonder briefly when she had time to do this; move all these things, arrange them in such a way. Between the parties and the debriefings and the reviews and the reports… Her sister, I think. Then shake off the thought, knowing Phoebe thinks very little of Kathryn's penchant for nostalgia.

"Mark helped," she says then adds. "If you were wondering."

It's taken me years to learn she's not actually reading my thoughts, but it's a close approximation. All part of the room; the way she uses her environment to see without looking. I've been aware since the moment I entered my reflection is cast in the windows, the mirrors, and the blade of the sword seated against the wall. So is she.

"How did you feel about that?" I could phrase it better, if I really wanted, but neutrality is best when dealing with her.

"It was cathartic. For both of us, I think."

"Are the two of you –"

"He's married, Chakotay." It's a snarl, drawn out and angry.

"I wasn't suggesting impropriety, Kathryn." But I do find it curious that she took it that way even before I finished the question. Maybe I'm not the first person to suggest it. Maybe her mother, or sister, or even Mark, himself…

She sighs and nods at the underlying apology. Makes one of her own. She's exhausted. She winces when she steps down into the living room and motions me toward the couch. "Coffee?"

"You need to rest."

She smiles, but it's faint. "How do you know when I sleep?"

So much of our history rests on times like this – fleeting moments where she cracks the door between us, just enough, to let me in. This time there's nothing stopping me from pulling it wide against the threshold. And that's exactly what I do when the silence is too much for her and she begins to fuss with an antique percolator on the sideboard.

"Kathryn, stop." My hands find hers, pull them against my chest. "Just stop."

She fights me for a moment, but then again, she's a shark. What I'm suggesting might kill her… at least, she thinks it might. She laughs, sighs, and coughs at the same time, then relaxes into my grip.

"I should be happy about this," she says.

She rocks her head to the side, exposes the shiny bars on her throat, as if her 'this' needed any more specificity. They're small but weighty, glistening in the thin light. I untangle one hand but keep hers still inside my fist. My thumb traces the cool metal from one end to the other. I hold her eyes when I slip a single finger inside her collar, against her skin, and pop them free into my palm. I set them on the table beside us then smooth her collar back into place.

"Feel better?"

A tremor passes through her chest and she tries for a clean breath. "What are you…"

Here is where she expects I should kiss her. Where she lets the words drop out like I should finish the thought for her. When I don't, she swallows hard and tries to step away. I don't let her.

"Chakotay…"

"You're not her." She ducks her face and tries again. I hold her tighter, stronger, say it once more. "_You're not her_."

"Maybe I am."

"Listen to me, whatever happened to her, to me, to Seven and Tuvok and the others didn't. Will not happen. We're home. You're home. And you can't treat this place like her grave, or yourself like an effigy to a person who didn't even exist."

Eventually, when I'm sure she can't ignore what I've come here to say, I release her. She catches herself on the table, tries to catch her breath, and the ball I just tossed in her court. I watch her for a minute then head for the door.

"Stay."

I'm not entirely sure it's her voice. Not entirely sure I've heard her correctly. But when I turn she's closed the distance between us and lays a soft hand against my chest. "Stay," she says again. "I don't want to be alone."

She didn't have to explain but it's nice to hear. And here is where I _really_ should kiss her, but don't. Because this isn't about us or the love that I still feel for her. It's about _her_. I nod once but she lingers, working her hand across my chest, up to my shoulder, clinging to it like it's the only thing holding her up.

I nod my chin toward the bedroom. "Get out of that uniform."

An eyebrow arches up her forehead at the implication I know she's heard, or at least might have been hoping to hear. But I'm not that stupid either. Sex now would make it easy. Easier than confronting her demons, than letting me be here while she does.

I motion her toward the bedroom. "Go on. I'll wait."

She moves off without further words. I want her to be comfortable, but I also want to see it for myself. See what this place does to her, how far she is willing to go, because while she's coming undone, I'm just getting started.

While she's gone, I try to memorize every inch of her apartment, opening and closing my eyes, burning snapshots into my mind. As much a way to memorize the moment as it is to keep thoughts away from the whispering sounds of her uniform hitting the floor. The rustle of clean fabric sliding over her skin.

I said sex would be easy – I didn't say I didn't want it.

To say I have lusted after her is a shallow description of what I have felt. I have craved her. Desired her in the delirious way that frightens and ignites every cell in my body. Even at her worst, and in mine, I have always felt the drive to tame her in ways she's never allowed. To cull the loose ends of her hair inside my fist before claiming her mouth, shove her into a bulkhead knowing full well that's _exactly_ what it will take to melt the ironclad resolve that has kept us apart for so long.

It's taken the last seven years to temper the vestigial instinct to walk the fifteen steps into her bedroom, ignoring all her half-hearted protests, and do just that. Seven years younger, I would already have her trembling and aching and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

We don't have far to go between here and there, but the last few steps will be crucial.

When she emerges again, her eyes are hooded with exhaustion, but also something else that speaks to her keen awareness of my inner most thoughts. _Want_.

"Better?" she asks.

I nod. "I remember the first time I saw you in that dress."

She smooths it across her hips and gives me a wilted smile. "I was thinner then."

It's such a strange thing to hear; vanity and insecurity not being two words I would ever associate with her. Then again, it's everything I came here to see. To show her. Beyond the Captain she was, the Admiral she's afraid she is now, is the woman who met me toe to toe. Fearless. Dauntless. But still vulnerable.

B'Elanna had seen it then, too, though she waited much longer before mentioning it. Somewhere around the time that she realized she was truly in love with Tom, when her emotions and no doubt her hormones were waging a similar battle against her insecurities. We played enough hoverball that week to kill my interest in the game.

"…And he's always hanging around when I'm off duty!" B'Elanna said.

The ball went up and out, punctuating her complaints.

"Would you like me to—" I dove left and barely made the return volley. " – speak to him?"

"NO!" _Wham!_ The ball came back, this time with enough English it almost fractured my wrist and stall my follow-through, then careened wildly out of bounds.

"_Point, Torres. Winner, Torres_," the computer announced.

B'Elanna was already after the ball and hustling up for her next serve. I collapsed to the mat. "I'm going to need a minute."

Angry, she stalked off the court, tossing the ball up and then hammering it against the floor. "I tried to tell him I don't want to risk our friendship over some stupid near-death experience. I mean, we both thought we were going to die, and you say stupid things, things you don't mean, right?"

I started to answer but she continued over me.

"I mean, what happens if we do start a relationship and we find out we hate each other, or we don't like the same things. What if he's the jealous type and doesn't want me to play hoverball with you anymore?"

"At this point, I might tell you to go for it," I wheezed.

She glared at me. "I'm serious, Chakotay."

"So am I." I mopped the sweat from my forehead. "B'Elanna, sit down for a minute, would you?"

Grudging, she stepped over the net and dropped to the floor in front of me, keeping the ball rested on her knees, and her chin on top of that.

"What are you really afraid of?" I asked.

Her eyes stayed far away, lost on a point over my left shoulder. "You know my father left when I was a child. What if Tom…" She hesitated and swallowed the tightness in her voice. "What if what we feel now isn't really what we feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if we… what if he finds out that I'm not who he thinks I am?"

"And what is it that he thinks you are that you're not?"

"Confident. Passionate." She picked at the seam in the hoverball. "Beautiful."

"I don't think you're so much worried he will find out you're not those things, as much as you're afraid you'll realize you are." I lifted her chin with my finger. "He's not wrong, B'Elanna. And if you're heart is telling you that he is honest, thoughtful, and true, you need to hold on to that, and let everything else go. Otherwise, you're going to spend the rest of the trip wondering if you missed your branch."

She smiled and bowed her head again. "You and your damned proverbs."

"Would it help if I promised to break his nose if he hurts you?"

"What are you, my big brother?"

"I like to think of myself more as the stoic uncle."

"Janeway would brig you."

"For you, I'd even risk Kathryn's ire." It slipped. Out before I could catch it. I rarely called her by her first name in front of the crew and never when she wasn't in the room. And B'Elanna wasn't so dumb she wouldn't notice. My only hope was to keep moving. "Besides, if I'm in the brig, who's going to keep all you misfits in line?"

B'Elanna nodded knowingly. "Yeah, who indeed." She shoved herself to her feet, still playful as she moved back to her side of the court. "I don't know why I'm asking you for relationship advice anyway."

"Because I'm a bachelor?" I asked, lining up for her serve.

She waited until my eyes were on her, and not the ball then said:

"Because you tend to fall in love with your enemy."

I remember missing her next three serves.

To believe I have ever thought of Kathryn this way still startles me. But I have. And she was… my enemy. Maybe that's why the Admiral's words have been such a bitter pill to swallow, such a harsh reality to see. Drinking the poison, hoping its wine. Seska. Riley. Seven. Kathryn. They all hold one common facet – they have all been, at one point, my enemy. Cardassian. Borg. Starfleet. All blended up inside them like bait on a hook.

I can't imagine any one of them would enjoy being compared in such a way, but the truth would be difficult for anyone to ignore. Is difficult, now, to avoid. But there's serenity to that knowledge, a kind of peace that tells me waiting for Kathryn was absolutely the correct choice. I might not have believed it then, but seeing her stripped of all the bladed silver, dressed down in the simple cream dress that marks a few stolen moments of our past…

I kiss her.

Firm but soft. Warm, yet still dry. Neither of us withdrawing, but neither willing to go deeper.

Connected but still hanging over the edge of a thousand unspun desires. With enough distance between us if we pull away now, we can go our separate ways and congratulate ourselves for the restraint we've shown. The stereotypes we haven't become. But still the ghosts of a future we don't want to be.

Our lips part for a moment but she rests her forehead against mine, and I realize, we've changed positions in the most drastic way. My uniform bears the smell of replicated fibers, her dress notes of her skin and perfume. She stares down the front of both our bodies and she gets it, too.

Her voice is a deep whisper. "Do you think it will always be this intense between us?"

I tuck the loose hair behind her ear. "I certainly hope so. Do you?"

Her body says yes, and her face echoes the same sentiment, but the scientist in her still questions everything. I don't want to let her go, not now. Not even if she means to break my heart. Loving her has always been like living on the edge of a black hole. I can't help but be sucked toward the event horizon on the off chance I will experience something wonderful.

"Why?" she asks. "When you rescued me from Quarra, why did you stop me? I would have…" She lets the thought die with a soft shake of her head, but we both know what she means. What barriers she would have crossed, if I'd let her. "I couldn't have gone back after that."

"I know," I say. "But, I knew who you were, even when you didn't. Because I do love you, and part of that love is respecting your boundaries. But it's also how I knew this was real. " She tips her head in search of further explanation. I blow out a long breath, smile, and shrug. "You're not some woman waiting for a man to come claim her. In a way, I've always known that when _you_ kiss _me_, for real, it will be with the same authority."

It amuses her and bolsters a kind of smile I've rarely seen. But something else ratchets the soft lines of her body into firm, powerful chords. She slinks back, one step then another. Instantly, my body misses her, moves instinctively to follow as she takes slow, measured steps backwards. My eyes run the curve of her hip, travel the places my hands have just touched. Each careful movement swaggers her side to side, and it hard to believe anything can move like this. She's like a desert sidewinder, boneless and seductive.

Her hands disappear behind her back. She wets her mouth then bites her bottom lip. "Did you want me to claim you, Chakotay?"

Answering,_ Yes, ma'am_, is as totally out of place as it seems perfect for the moment, but I'm struggling to say anything past the confluence of several mysteries, like what her mouth, her hips, and her hands are doing.

She pauses in the bedroom door, hands still held behind her back, mouth parted on a silent question, or the one she's just spoken. I can't decide. I can't do much but follow her, leaving only a few feet of distance between us. She continues into the dim light of the bedroom and nods toward the outline of the bed in my periphery. It's a close approximation to her bedroom on _Voyager_, only slightly bigger, and without Starfleet issue anything.

The bedding is soft, silky under my palms where they rest on either side of my lap. She moves in, letting her thighs come to rest against my bent knees over the edge of the bed. Her hands return but the form-fitting shoulders of her dress sag away from her skin, pale and luminescent in the background glow of the city lights.

Her fingers trace one side of my face, then the other, lingering a full minute when she touches my forehead. Her lips lay soft kisses against my temple, my jaw, then finally, across my mouth.

This time the kiss is full, powerful. It reels away my thoughts and any lingering doubt that she wants this, _still_ wants this. For a minute, she draws me into her, rolling my tongue across hers as expertly as I've always imagined. Bold. Possessive.

My hands smooth the bare skin of her back, thumbs find the edge of her dress, and inch it off her shoulders to expose the flesh on her upper arms. Her control slips when she gasps, and I take the opportunity to pull her off my lap and down to her back against the bed.

The change in position leaves her looking up at me, breathless.

I move in to kiss her again but she rolls her head away with a chuckle. "Mmm… you're not going to win me over that easily, Commander."

Rank. It's a gutsy move. Not one that I ever really suspected. But it occurs to me this has always been part of our dance. Will probably always be. The real danger of our situation then and now, or more precisely, the kind of illicit danger that excites her. She's showing her throat, figuratively and literally. I note the former but take the latter to kiss the line of neck.

"I'm just getting started, _Admiral_."

* * *

_fini_


End file.
